Let's Spend Our Time Doing Something Creative!
by acousticver
Summary: Guess what! That's right! I've been successfully captured into the DHMIS (Don't Hug Me I'm Scared) fandom! Please send help!
1. Ch1: Time Waits For No Man

**DHMIS Fanficti**

_Ch1: Time Waits For No Man_

**Tony 's POV:**

I've never been quite too fond of any of my peers. In my boyish days in the schoolyard, I would watch as the old chaps, dressed sharply in the same uniform, would always manage to find some poor herbivore to consume. She was a fine specimen with flowing vivid charcoal-coloured locks, cute as a button, the doll. But she was strange. She was always off in her own world screaming of monsters and the sort when we were out, making a mess of the fine dress her loves would buy her.

We sat near each other in the classroom, seeing as her name was Natalie Whither and mine's Tony Tempus. She always smelt of cheap paint with inkstains all over her fingers. And please excuse me for saying so, but I hated the girl. She was all about nonsense and fantasy worlds, it made me wonder if she had been brought up by the elves she so frequently talked about. She was the furthest thing from a proper young lady, our tutor would often talk to her parents about seeing a shrink. I remember how the whole class was able to hear her father screaming to our mentor about Natalie's staying in the classroom. It was so unbelievable to the 9 years young me that _any _parent would want their child to be so wild.

Now I don't like to brag, but I was proudly raised in a more... commanding environment. My parents were very spot on about scheduling and timing, it slowly became embedded into my own personality. Everything had to be proper, lest I myself turn into a fitful mess with no means of controlling how my little brain broke. When I was only a few moments late to the classroom I would throw a tantrum and scream my tutor's ears off (can't say I've quite grown out of that habit almost 20 yearsyears later), but other than that my mentors loved me and how easily they could get what they wanted from me. Which was precisely why I couldn't stand Natalie.

She was much too vivid and colourful for the world we lived in; her mind was an ever expanding black hole with nonsense speeding from either ear. Our tutors had a horrible time getting her to pay attention in the classroom, and she always screamed the answer before anyone had a chance to think about it. What boys thought was a crazily smart herbivore turned out to be an insane carnivore. That is to say, that whenever anyone tried to pick on Natalie, she knew how to defend herself. Though she was small in size, her countermeasures always revolved around tools.

Poor Reed was only trying to teach the girl a lesson in shutting her big fat mouth and he got scissors lodged into his left thigh. For that she got suspended for an amazingly quiet week, on account of the fact that she was too "young" to have charges pressed against the girl. When she came back she was louder than ever. Her laughter became something so unbearable to me, so do you know what I did? I took my pair of scissors, took a firm grip on that illustrious hair of hers and cut half of it off. The horrified expression she wore just for me gave me a better thrill than any kind of stimulating drug the youth possesses today.

Thus immediately began our bladed war. She lunged as hard as she could at me with silver at hand, knocking over desk by desk and throwing me as hard as her little body would allow on the wooded floor. Hearing our mates cheer me on in this fray just made my blood boil all the more.

The snipping of her blade still rings clearly in my ears today, same as the blood I could see flooding from the bridge of my nose when she finally managed to land a hit. And before much longer the authorities came in to break us up. The entire class was on my side and before long she was expelled. I had to get stitches for my nose, but at least that was the last of her. Or so I'd hope.

No, by the time I had gotten out of junior high school she was already assigned the same classroom as I once again in our new school lives. We sat near each other all the same and as much as we tried to ignore each other, our friends were in the same company. That is to say, she and I shared more acquaintances than wither of us would ever care for. And more often than not we would be caught at the same dance or party of the like, staying as far away from one another as possible.

Our mates knew how much we loathed each other. Which is why I have close to no clue as to why they would lock me and the love in the same two-way closet at the science department in our school. Even in the dark I could see the hatred emitting from her large iris'. But it was the first time I had actually gotten a good look at the young woman since the new school year began.

Natalie was just as petite as ever, and still reeked of paints and dyes of the sort. She grew her hair out once more so that it was now reaching her rear end and she had become a shapely specimen fully capable of being a seductress. And me, being in the peak of my youth, what did I do? My own body betrayed me.

Before I realized it my hands were moving of their own accord, entangling themselves in her locks and pulling her head upwards while being rewarded with a little yelp from the girl. Like a demon I went for her exposed neck and bit down on that tiny frame, feeling her nails claw into the back of my neck and, well, the rest is history.

We began our own affair after that. Granted we weren't the happiest couple, she and I were more compatible than either of us gave credit for. The little things and dreams she went on about and the way she slept with no regards to ththe flippant danger, all of it, I slowly found myself thinking how cute it was. Not to mention we met with eachother's crazed sadistic needs.

Right after our final public schooling year things took a turn for the worst. Because she was bound for an art institution out of our home, our time together became less and less frequent. Because our time together was short, we were on edge. Because we were on edge, the little time we had together was engulfed in our childish arguments. And as a madman, I still regret those quarrels.

Train bound, she left our little flat for a bigger dream. I didn't bother getting up to see her off in the morning, and stayed in bed the whole day sulking. I didn't eat or drink anything and the only time I got up was for the loo. Even then I tried to avoid that as much as possible. The scar from where she stabbed me all those years ago was still marked firmly on my nose. When I finally got up in the evening, me clock wout so out of the normal I felt like screaming as if I were a child again. I turned on the tv and guess what the first thing I saw was.

You guessed it. The cab Natalie took to get to the station suffered collateral damage of epic proportions. The cabby escaped unscathed, but, you guessed it, Natalie was found dead at the wreckage.


	2. Ch2: Delusions and The Like

_Ch2: Delusions and The Like_

**3rd POV:**

Her frail fingers glided across the open canvas elegantly, a brimming smile painted haphazardly upon her blackened lips as an infinity of colours sprawled itself. A slight whistle escaped from between the part in her mouth. It was magnificent, a real work of Da Vinci, if she had to say so herself.

Upon the empty plane were meshes of red and orange, a striking navy blue emphasized through it all. The more the lines connected, the happier she seemed to feel. Warmth. Kindness. Love. Jealousy. Envy. Disgust. Loath. Hate. Hate. Hate, hate hate Hate, HATE **HATE**...

How familiar the term. She could never place her finger on it, but there was always a nagging painful feeling winding up round her breast that threatened to consume her very being. This happened whenever she thought too much or let the paint flow from her fingers. But as she took a step back from the nonexistent wall she managed to throw her twisted soul upon, the colours were no longer the vibrant primary colours highlighted to neon. No, by this time the vast area she dragged her palm over became oozing with a bloodied blackish red, humanoid parts manifesting and _sloosh_ing towards the ground with splashing thuds.

_Now what in the world could these be? Who could they belong to, now?_

A few steps backwards and she was back to where the unknown created itself. The objects were foreign, painted a pretty pink with a deep red surrounding them. They were shiny and squishy looking, smelt of iron and stained the ground like paint brushes. How curious.

The porcelain girl extended her own ink-dripping fingers to the thing, watching as every colour she'd ever seen mix with the crimson expanding on the blank ground. Blues became purple and greens became brown, becoming a swirling pattern as the inks mixed. And as she did touch it, she became utterly delighted to see her presumptions were spot on, and that if she put just the slightest amount of pressure on it, they would bounce back up or excrete their juices. And then turn black.

Her ink seeped into the strange. The crimson turned dark. The shiny and squishy turned dull and hard. Cold. The red she gave stopped flowing. What was this, again? Nostalgia?

Something wrenched itself in her abdominals as the thing died. It felt like she could explode, save for the fact that there was nothing to escape from her innards. Like a rotten taste had managed all the way to the back of her throat and planted itself in hopes of growing. Before she had the chance for further inspection, a light tapping embraced her shoulders. As she turned, her face was met with that of a small man.

A man?

No, this looked like no human she could ever fish from her memories. But it did have a sense of nostalgia on it.

He was an abstract creature; flat as though he could be 2nd dimensional, yet his face portrayed two eyes. He walked on two pencil-thin legs with arms to match, wearing a pair of white gloves and a yellow striped bow tie. The small man was blue all over with a red nose and an extra set of hands flattened on his face, pitched to that crimson colour she loved so much. But... he wore a scowl that rung familiarity in her bosom. The kind of familiarity a child is hit with when they break an object and know they're in trouble.

And once she raised a hand to the little man, he immediately began a strange chirping of screams. She jumped back in her skin, placing ears atop her head in an attempt to block out the sound-breaking creature. The ink stirred up inside her and made the thumping in her chest race. It felt as though her eyes would pop from their sockets at any given moment should she idle any longer, so she stood up and raised her leg.

With no hesitance or lack of force, the heel of her boot met with his face until she could feel the ground through the man. She kept digging in harder and harder, until the screaming finally ceased and the blank world only she had ever resided in was quiet once more.

One last kick sent him flying to another invisible wall, smashing the rest of his face and leaving those red hands of his to dangle as if they had never been supported to begin with. Her breath came out in sharp daggers, her pale iris' dilating her pupils as if she had actually been in somesome plausible danger. And just as she was about to turn tail and pretend this had never happened, that this wasn't real or had it ever existed, the strange man spoke:

"_Don't be stupid, friend! C'mon, it's time to go!_" Oh how she knew that voice. Now who did it belong to again?

A strongstrong wind came from behind her, leaving her hair to slap her in the face and her dress to flutter about, momentarily blinding the she. When she managed to push the hair from her sight, the strange man had just become an empty old circle with patterns painted on; _just a silly old clock_. From behind, a black door standing tall with an unnecessary amount of human images plastered unto the frame. With a heavy creak, the iron clad wood swung o p enough just enough for a small being to slip through.

Approaching with caution, she looked through the crack the newfound door provided. But there was nothing to see. From beyond was only darkness, a colorless world with less than a sliver of light. What better a place to teach the brainless of the worlworld the beauty of creativity?


End file.
